Memorial Garden in Oak Ridge in memory of my Aunt Arlene Ziegler, the "lady who loves flowers"

Why is Tennessee so darn long?

by Pat Laster

             Oh, for the advent of hover cars or zippy monorails to lessen the time it takes to drive from central Arkansas to East Tennessee.

             Four sisters, each with morning rituals: two walk early and fast; one can’t keep up with the seasoned walkers, so she and I walk together—every other day, slower, and for a shorter time. Still, every little step counts, right?

             Lacking a daily paper delivered to our door, my ritual was scrubbed, so on my off-walking days, I took my journal and my writer-friend Freeda’s new novel and sat on the deck until the heat became unbearable.Not wanting one opportunity to go by, we loaded up on Sunday to hit the various flea markets, antique shops we’d scoped out in route. All of us were active church women except when we were on vacation. Nothing was open at 10 a.m., of course.

            After the church hour, we did find enough venues open to satisfy our day’s outing. That night, back at the condo, I heard thunder. “No,” one of the others said, “it’s someone opening or closing the patio doors. Or moving the iron furniture around on the patio.”
           But it WAS thunder, and the next morning, it was cool and breezy. We sat out and breathed in the woodsy, bird-song filled air. Poems written during this time can be found on my poetry blog, pittypatter@blogspot.com.
           That night, a thunderstorm hit, so we turned up the AC and opened the heavy doors, leaving the screen doors to shield the bugs. While the others waited for maintenance to reprogram the TV-DVD after management installed new programming, I betook myself outside under the deck overhang and enjoyed the storm--with a glass of chardonnay.
         Later, we watched the movie “Chocolat,” a sweet tale about a woman (gypsy?) who moved into town and opened a chocolate shop during Lent. Despite efforts of the mayor to poison the townspeople to her, her child and her shop, in the end, the town became more friendly, more inclusive and more accepting. Johnny Depp and Judy Dench (my favorite) also starred. I recommend it.
        We’d talked about doing nothing on the Fourth, but that was not to be.  I’d bought a Knoxville News Sentinel that morning while walking, so I begged off the mid-morning foray to Jacqueline’s boutique, which had been closed heretofore, and for gas and groceries.
         At 4-ish p.m., they returned after Barb’s friend Glenda from Evansville met up with them. She would stay the rest of the week, and then spend a week with Barb in Virginia. We were in for a treat. She’d brought “crafts,” so that night, before supper, we decorated wine glass bases with glittter, faux stones, strips of sequins, glue (a bottle for each), tiny shells—the works.
         After supper, we played UNO until time for the fireworks, which we watched through the trees from the deck.
          NEXT WEEK:  the wasp sting and the pontoon boat ride on Lake Dartmoor. And why Tennessee is so darn long.

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c 2012 by Pat Laste dba lovepat press